


Serves You Right

by OtherWorldsIveLivedIn



Series: Serves You Right [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: (because let him live), 5+1, Angry Simon, Angst, Canon Compliant, Deleted Scenes, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Growing Up Together, Jealous Simon, Just Simon being Simon, Kissing, Love, M/M, Nerves, Oblivious Simon, POV Baz, POV Simon, Pining, Post-Leavers Ball, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Pranks and Practical Jokes, Realising you’re in love, Serving Duty, Slice of Life, The Year of Great Gay Yearning, Truces, Watford Eighth Year, Watford Fifth Year, Watford Fourth Year, Watford Seventh Year, Watford Sixth Year, and wanting to set yourself on fire, because it’s Baz, dad jokes Baz, eventually..., soft snowbaz, watford era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26501734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn/pseuds/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn
Summary: I’m a sucker for throwaway lines and wondering “what’s the story there?”Cook Pritchard does the cooking, with a few helpers, and we all take turns serving at mealtimes. On weekends, it’s help yourself. - p.34 (Kindle Edition)...what if Simon and Baz were forced to serve together at mealtimes?Told through a series of “deleted” slice of life scenes. 5+1 and canon compliant!4th Year Pranks5th Year Realisations6th Year Nerves7th Year Jealousy8th Year TrucesAnd a Post Leavers Ball Brunch
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Serves You Right [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941562
Comments: 126
Kudos: 181





	1. 4th Year Pranks

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first long’ish fic for the fandom so I really hope you enjoy it 🥰
> 
> I have to send A HUMONGOUS thank you to [sconelover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover) and [twokisses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twokisses/pseuds/twokisses) for being the best cheerleaders I could have ever asked for! Without your love and support this past month or so, I never would have been brave enough to post any of this ❤️
> 
> You can find me on tumblr here: [OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/otherworldsivelivedin) 🥰

**  
BAZ **

Snow has been jabbering on about today’s assigned serving duty to anyone who will listen for the past two weeks, Chomsky knows why. Who gets excited over having to serve food? I think he assumes it means he can eat as much of it as he wants or set aside the best bits for himself, but it doesn’t even work that way. He’s an idiot.

Plus Gareth said Snow’s on soup duty. Who wants extra servings of Minestrone soup?

We aren’t even allowed to use magic to do it. I will refuse the next time it’s my turn to serve. I’m a Pitch and that means we have people serving us, not the other way around.

He was exceptionally chirpy this morning in the room, whistling to himself and managing to ignore my digs at him. It was exasperating. Little does Snow know that I’ve got something up my sleeve for him. He’s been surprisingly observant, yelling about my budding vampirism non-stop since we came back to school, and I will delight in nothing more than pissing him off right now. At this point, I’m hoping he will literally blow.

I won’t be in the dining hall when it starts so I can’t be tied back to anything, but I delight in knowing I have orchestrated the whole thing perfectly. Mob bosses don’t do the dirty work themselves of course, that’s what minions are for, and today I’m using Gareth—Snow’s unlucky partner for Serving Duty. He has various secrets I’m too much of a gentleman to actually disclose, but not too much of a gentleman to use as blackmail where I see fit.

As I stride into the dining hall, Niall catches my eye and gives me a discreet lift of his spoon. The ladle I gave them has made its way into Snow’s palm, perfect. It took me some time to find the right spell ( **Out of Service** —a spell teachers use to disable contraband technology. Given that Snow is expecting to carry out _serving_ duty, I found that the intention is there.) (I’m not shy in admitting it’s a stroke of genius on my part). Once I had it, it was easy to have Dev take a ladle from the kitchen—given that Cook Pritchard turns a blind eye to anything our family does—spell it, and have Niall _encourage_ Gareth to switch out Snow’s ladle for this one. Good men.

As I instructed, we’re sat at the first table to the right of the serving stations and we have quite a good view from here, with just the cutlery table separating us. I chance a look at Snow; if it wasn’t already clear that he’s having a meltdown from the strong scent of his magic, it’s completely obvious from the sight of him. I can also tell that the people in the queue are less than pleased by the situation. Good, he’s brought today upon himself. I would feel guilty for embarrassing him like this in front of the whole school, but he’s been getting under my skin especially so this year. He makes me itchy all over and I hate him for it. Pitches are meant to have composure, always.

Also, I’m a little ashamed to say, the last time he had serving duty I was displeased his attention was elsewhere. It’s not that I _need_ to be at the centre of his attention—it was just strange that’s all. He always watches me closely when we’re in the dining hall. Always. I think he might be afraid I’ll spell him to choke on his food, as if he isn’t trying to shovel everything down without chewing anyway. I don’t know why Snow thinks I’m always plotting, I don’t need to; he almost kills himself at least fifteen times a day by just existing as Simon Snow.

Anyway, it seems Phase 2 is in motion. 

I have to say, Gareth is putting on quite a good show; he’s half shouting at Snow to hurry up and serve people and it’s making him even more flustered. Dev and Niall are snorting into their plates of moussaka and it’s work to keep the smirk off my own face. 

He’s frantic now. I can hear him stammering back “but—I—it’s—and... I’M TRYING!” and I’m just starting to feel a little bit bad when he looks up and catches my eyes on him. His face contorts into unadulterated rage and I think I hear him actually growl. I’m surprised by how my body reacts—all itchy again—so I raise my eyebrow at him. If this is a game of getting under each other’s skin, then I am not going to lose.

“This is your fault!” he roars at me.

“Don’t be ridiculous Snow, I wasn’t even in the dining hall until five minutes ago,” I say nonchalantly as I stand and walk closer. “Whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into is certainly due to your own idiocy.”

At that, Snow loses it and launches himself over the table at me, knocking forks, knives and spoons everywhere.

I let him wrestle me to the ground because I’m afraid to exert my growing unnatural strength with the whole school watching, but I keep hold of his wrists where his fists are threatening to collide with my face. He’s leaning in close, literally blurring at his edges from rage and magic. I’m struck by how breathtaking he looks.

_Well, you’ve definitely got his attention now, Basil. Now what?_

“Careful Snow, Agatha’s watching. You don’t want to scare her off with your mindless hooliganism do you?”

“Fuck you!” he growls as he actually tries to knee me in the bollocks, the bastard.

“How eloquent, my mistake,” I spit.

“Piss off, Baz! I know this was you!”

He’s furious and little flecks of his spit fall onto my mouth from his shouting. For a second I actually consider driving my fist into his face just so he’d bleed down onto me and I could catch the droplets against my lips and I realise that I need to get him off me, _now_.

I push against the floor with my left foot, shoving him to my right and trying to roll to my feet. I don’t get very far before he grabs hold of my lower leg and I pitch forward, smacking my nose into the granite floor. I’m momentarily dazed and I can tell I’m bleeding but Snow drags me back towards him by one of my ankles and I kick out at him, connecting my Oxford with something soft. Good, I hope it was his face. It’s always there behind my eyelids recently, basic blue eyes and fucking golden skin and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of him.

A voice booms from the other side of the hall: “BOYS!”

Snow doesn’t seem to care, judging by the way he’s crawling back over me, growling. The Minotaur yanks him off me and holds out his hand to help me up. I don’t take it. I know the whole dining hall is watching us; I try to adjust my face to hide how affected I feel but I’m not sure I pull it off, in all honesty.

I make my best attempt to look dignified whilst trying to stem my bloody nose with my sleeve, but I find that the bleeding has already stopped. I’m almost certain that I broke it when I hit my head off the tile, but I seem to be able to breathe through it just fine. It's already healing. Just one more unnatural thing I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about. I hope it hasn’t set badly.

Miss Possibelf motions for us to follow her and I let the Minotaur cast **Early to bed and early to rise** on me just to keep up appearances, although I would have preferred **Good as new.**

When in her office she sits glaring at us for a few moments, daring one of us to speak, and of course, Snow does.

“Miss, Baz is a danger to this school and he deserved to be—”

Miss Possibelf holds up a hand, signalling for him to be quiet. “I will allow both of you the chance to contribute an explanation for your behaviour, but considering it was you who set upon Mr Pitch physically, I would like to hear his side first.”

I’m miffed by his outburst, still glaring at him— _I’m_ a danger? As if he isn’t brandishing that bloody sword at any given opportunity—and so my response is anything but mature. “You’re right, we both have something to contribute to this conversation, and I think Snow’s contribution should be silence.”

“Basilton! That’s enough,” she admonishes. “This constant fighting needs to end. From now on you will be paired up for serving duty. It’s about time you two learned to work together and developed some mutual trust.”

I try not to gag while Simon half loses his mind.

 _“But Miss!_ Surely you can’t expect me to stand next to him when there’s carving knives around!”

“Simon, please be quiet.”

I smirk at him for that, just to drive home my earlier comment.

“Given this current outburst, Mr Snow, and your earlier behaviour, it’s _you_ I’m more concerned about at this moment.” She gives him a pointed look before looking at me and raising her eyebrow. “Now, might I suggest you both head to the library right this instant and get started on the essay I set this morning, while I consider how best to move forward with the both of you,” she says in a voice that implies this is anything but a ‘suggestion’.

She waves her hand in dismissal and we both begrudgingly stand and leave the room, heading towards the library.

“I don’t know why you even come to the dining hall,” Snow grumbles under his breath, “it’s not exactly like our classmates are on offer.”

I stick my foot out and trip him.


	2. 5th Year Realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Exit, pursued by angst_  
>   
>  Poor Baz 💔

**  
BAZ **

I need a break from Snow.

I can’t get rid of him. He’s everywhere I turn. And even during those few moments where he isn’t (only the toilet stall, lately), he’s still very present in my mind.

I’ve always had a fixation with Snow, and whilst I knew it was odd, it’s starting to dawn on me that maybe what I feel isn’t actually just a healthy amount of disdain for an enemy. I’m starting to accept that the discontent I feel from his criticisms isn’t due to resentment, the itching in my fingertips when I see him isn’t due to vexation, and the burning in the pit of my stomach when he touches me is the exact opposite of displeasure.

Imagine how pathetic I felt when I realised that all these years I’ve spent tormenting him, it was his attention that I wanted, not his suffering.

And now I have it. _So much of it._ All of his attention seems to be focused on me, all of the time. Between that and his relentless stalking, I feel like I’m seconds away from shoving him against the closest wall and biting into him with my fangs. Or licking a trail up his neck and biting his jaw with my actual teeth...

Either way, I am not sharing serving duty with him. Last time the heat made Snow’s shirt cling to him, and I swear I’ll immolate myself on the gas burners if I have to endure that at close proximity now. A) by choice, because I’m hopelessly queer and B) because I’ll likely go up like flash paper if I’m distracted near a flame by the beads of sweat dripping down Snow’s long neck and disappearing under his shirt collar. The memory alone is obscene.

No. Much better to feign illness for the day and be reassigned duty with a different partner. It means I’ve missed classes but it’s not like I’m not already ahead and, quite honestly, I’m almost certain I could teach most of them myself. (Much better than the Minotaur anyway.)

I’m reading when I hear feet stomping up the stairs, the rush of his magic preceding him. Sighing, I place my book on the bedside table and crawl under my duvet, preparing for the inevitable onslaught.

The door slams open and Snow’s shouting “Where were you!?” at me before he’s even looked to see if I was, in fact, in the room. Crowley. You’d think that he would have been happier not to have to serve with me, given how much he apparently ‘hates the sight of me.’ I don’t pretend to understand how Simon Snow’s brain works; I’m not even sure it _does_ work half the time.

“It seems I am sick, Snow,” I mumble from behind my duvet. I do my best to talk through my nose and sound stereotypically flu-like, but I’m not quite sure that I’m pulling it off.

“Bollocks. You haven’t been sick in the whole time I’ve known you and I just had to do dinner duty with Trixie!”

I peek at him and see that he is in fact covered in pixie dust. I’d laugh at how ridiculous he looks but it’s making his skin shimmer in the dying light from the window as he gestures wildly. I notice a few specks on his lips sparkling as he continues shouting at me. I would give anything to pin him to that door and lick them off.

“...what you’re plotting and—are you even listening? Answer me, Baz!” he half screeches, stepping closer to my bed.

Fuck. Did I really just zone out staring at Snow’s mouth? Merlin, maybe I _am_ sick.

“Honestly Snow, I’m not sure if any of that bumbling was even in English. And you look like shit, which isn’t helping my nausea. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back to sleep to wait for this terrible affliction to pass.”

I roll over to face my wall but it’s no use. His shimmering skin is burned to the back of my eyelids. I hear the bathroom door slam shut and pray to whatever’s out there (for a vampire, at least) that this love sickness really does pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr here: [OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/otherworldsivelivedin) 🥰


	3. 6th Year Nerves

**  
SIMON **

Baz and I are a lot closer to each other when we’re doing serving duty than we let ourselves be usually. (Well, now that we don’t physically fight anymore.) We always do our best not to touch each other, so it surprises both of us when I accidentally trip over a bag of bread rolls into Baz’s front and he catches me instead of just letting me face-plant the floor.

We stare at each other in shock for a second or two before Baz’s face fixes into a sneer and he steps back, dropping me in a heap on the granite with a mocking “Falling for me, Snow?”

“I—um—fuck off,” I grunt as I stumble back to my feet, hoping he hasn’t noticed how red my face must be. I don’t know why I’m flushing. I don’t know why it bothers me that Baz saw me fall over or that he caught me. I don’t know why it’s made my stomach feel all nervy; the kind that I get just before Penny and I are about to enter into something we know is a trap.

Is that what this is? Maybe Baz is plotting something big this year and my gut is trying to warn me about it. Did Baz purposefully put the bread rolls there for me to trip over? I decide to ask Penny what she thinks later.

I glance over at him while he’s setting out the salmon. He changed over summer. We both did, I guess. I got taller and my shoulders got broader and I was feeling pretty good about myself when I got back to school. But then I noticed that the same thing had happened to Baz, only better; that he’d got taller than me and more muscular as well, the jammy bastard. I suppose it can’t be helped when he’s probably eating fifteen-course meals every day and I’m in bloody care.

I won't lie, there’ve been times where I’ve been so jealous of the way he looks now that I can’t stop thinking about it or looking at him. Sometimes it makes my insides get all tight and I want to punch him in the face like when we were kids.

Yeah, something isn’t right here; Baz must be plotting something. Cook Pritchard put a permanent charm on the area to stop people from using magic during serving duty after an 8th year tried to spell the soup never-ending and it wouldn’t stop filling the hall for two hours. (It nearly drowned a first year.) So I don’t need to worry about Baz trying to kill me with magic, at least.

Still, can never be too careful. I decide I should keep a closer eye on him. The Mage said I should keep an eye on him.

Once we’ve finished unpacking the sandwiches, I grab a pouch of traitorous bread rolls but I can’t figure out how to open them. Baz watches me struggle and grunt for a minute or two before he sighs dramatically and hisses, “You couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag, Snow.” He snatches them off me, opens it effortlessly and empties the rolls onto the platter in two seconds flat. I try not to feel inadequate.

“Think you can stop insulting me long enough for us to unpack the fruit? The doors will open soon,” I hiss back at him, turning to organise the bunches of bananas.

“I’m not insulting you, miracle boy, I’m describing you,” he responds casually. I grip the banana I’m holding hard enough that I squash it.

Baz is being especially hostile with his words this year. I mean, I am too, but I’m hardly going to back down from his challenges and he won't ever back down from mine. I think that maybe we’ll have a day of just leaving each other alone, but then I’ll notice something suspicious and I’ll have to follow him, or he’ll look at me with disgust for no good reason, and that sets the cycle off all over again: shouting matches, snarky comments, embarrassing each other in class. (Okay, that last one might just be Baz, but it’s not through lack of trying. He’s just too bloody perfect to do anything worth embarrassment.)

I’ve always hated Baz but this year I can physically _feel_ how much I hate him. Like, in my stomach.

My heart beats faster, my face flushes, and even after I’ve stormed away or he’s strode off to go be evil somewhere, my palms will still be sweating and I can’t get his insults out of my head.

Penny’s tried to tell me to drop it, to ignore him, but he gets me so frustrated that I _can’t_. 

Everything he does is putting me on edge.

Cook Pritchard looks over our placement, then spells the doors open. I try to focus on the noise of the students filing in, trying to take Penny’s advice.

Around fifteen minutes into serving duty, Baz has to help me serve the hot sides because the roast beef is in high demand and I can’t keep up with the ridiculously long line. (It's roast beef, I can hardly blame them.) He tuts and makes a comment about my “ineptitude” but helps anyway. It means he has to get in my space and I’m suddenly aware of why they only assign one person for hot food; I’m heating up every time his arm brushes against mine as he leans to scoop up the potatoes. Maybe they should turn down the temperature on these hot plates or something? Surely it’s dangerous.

I’m so grateful when the line quietens down and Baz steps back over to the sandwiches that I sigh heavily. Baz looks over at me haughtily and sneers before turning back to serve a kid from the year below us.

“You know you’re holding the serving tongs wrong, don’t you?” Baz scolds me the next time we have a lull in students. Before I can respond he snatches the tongs from my grip and holds his hand out in an apparent attempt to show me how to do it properly.

“Wha—but—it’s...” I stammer, flushing a little. Dammit. “Why does it matter how I hold it if I’m still gettin’ it on the plate?” I grumble at him lamely.

“If you held it correctly instead of like some brainless hippopotamus, it wouldn’t take you so long,” he declares.

I growl at him and snatch them back.

Merlin, he’s such a _dick._ How would I know how to hold bloody serving tongs? It’s not like they give us fine dining classes at the homes. We eat off disposable plates and use plastic cutlery. I’d never even used a pair of serving tongs before I came to Watford, and nobody ever pulled me aside and _showed_ me how to use them, because nobody ever thought to.

Well, until Baz now I guess. But this hardly counts when he’s being such a condescending git.

He turns away from me and I’m left with an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach that I don’t understand. You’d think I’d be used to Baz’s air of superiority by now but I’m feeling a little pathetic.

I try to go back to ignoring him but I’m self-conscious and I accidentally drop a piece of salmon onto the floor when trying to serve Sam, a 7th year.

I bend down to pick up the mess and I can hear the smirk in Baz’s voice when he says, “No wonder Agatha doesn’t bring you to the club, Snow, she’s embarrassed that you’re flummoxed by basic utensils.”

For once, I don’t take the bait. I use the floor food as an excuse to leave and wash my hands, to get away from him, to distract myself from how my insides are twisting. He’s right, of course, but I don’t want to have to think about it.

 _Breathe, Simon,_ I tell myself, trying to get my magic under control. _He’s an arrogant prat but you can’t leak all over the place, it’ll only fuel him._

When I get back and relieve Baz from manning both stations he wastes no time in complaining about having to do everything by himself, that I’m useless, _blah blah blah._

He’s really laying it on thick with the ridiculing. Even though I know he’s only trying to get the rise out of me I didn’t give him earlier, he’s practically heckling me at this point and I can’t focus.

So of course when Saira asks me for a portion of soup, I spill most of it onto the floor and all over my trousers. (And of course it bloody misses Baz entirely. Typical.)

Baz and I lock eyes for a second before he starts sniggering. I’m praying that he’ll just ignore my clumsiness as I grab a rag and bend down next to him to wipe up the spill, but I’ve never been that lucky.

“Surely it takes a lot of effort to be this thick,” he taunts down at me while he leans over my head to serve Saira the soup I couldn’t manage to.

“For Christ’s sake, you’re not making this any easier Baz! Just shut up!” I growl up at him.

I’m swearing like a Normal and even over the smell of the spilled soup, I don’t miss how my magic has started to leak out of me. Baz doesn’t miss it either.

“Why are you leaking everywhere, Snow?” he jeers down at me. “Pull yourself together or people are going to start dropping like flies in the queue. Crowley.”

“You’d be mad too if I was constantly jabbing at you!” I retort. I purposefully flick the rag a little so some of the soup splashes onto his snooty Oxfords.

“I don’t care enough about you to be mad at you, Snow,” he says in the most detached voice and it’s such utter tripe that it riles me up even more.

I can feel my magic pouring off me in waves.

I purposefully try to knock him off balance as I stand, looking around for somewhere to throw the dripping rag, but Baz cuts over my thoughts.

“Look,” he starts, “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings when I called you thick. I really thought you already knew.”

That does it; I’ve had enough and I shout “YOU’RE SUCH AN INSUFFERABLE TWAT!” a lot louder than I meant to. The dining hall goes quiet as everyone looks over at us and my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I make the mistake of looking at Baz out the corner of my eye, and when I see the victorious look on his smug fucking face, I can’t take it anymore. I throw the dripping soup rag at his head, storm through the kitchen and straight out the back door of the Weeping Tower.

I can’t be around that prick for one second longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr here: [OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/otherworldsivelivedin) 🥰


	4. 7th Year Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What is this feeling?_

**  
SIMON **

I’m attempting to sneakily squirrel away some of the roast beef sandwiches from the cold food table when I accidentally knock my serving spoon onto the floor. The clatter draws the attention of the people next to me; Baz, sneering at me over the chicken and pie he’s serving, and Chanice from the year below us, who has been up here twice already.

She turns back to Baz, smiling softly at him while she asks for more chicken. He scoops more onto her plate, his expression defaulting back to looking bored. “Erm, so I’ll see you at the dance next week, Basil?” she asks.

“No,” Baz responds bluntly. He doesn’t even look at her, just turns his attention to the next person. I wince a little as she walks away.

“That was well harsh,” I whisper at him accusingly.

“That was my fourth request this week, Snow, it’s getting old.”

“Fourth? But they announced it this morning.”

Baz just turns his head to look at me and lifts one shoulder in a half shrug, as if this is to be expected. Arrogant bastard.

Crowley, four requests in less than five hours. I’ve only had one. I know the whole school knows I’ve got Agatha, but still.

Besides, what do they see in Baz anyway?

I mean sure, he’s formidably smart and yes, his hair looks incredibly soft to touch. (The heat is currently making it curl slightly where it falls against his cheeks.) He would basically be perfect if he wasn’t a vampire (which I’m sure he _is_ even if Penny and the Mage don’t believe me), but he’s also a grade A tosser who wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone… well, who wouldn’t hesitate to kill _me._

Baz hasn’t once had a girlfriend the whole time we’ve been at school. I used to think, when we were younger, that he was just good at hiding the fact that he was dating someone. I mean, he is nefarious and incredibly sneaky, but I know where he is most of the time; I would have seen a girl by now if he had ever been with one.

He could date back home, I guess. Girls who are just as rich and snooty (and maybe evil?) as he is, I suppose. I’ve just tried not to think about it. Besides, I’m sure he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to rub it in my face if he had a girlfriend. Not that I’d care.

“It’s just, I never see you dating. I’m surprised they’re asking that’s all,” I tell him.

Baz looks at me with his eyebrow raised. I’m sure he’s wondering, just like I am, why I’d even try to talk to him about such a personal thing.

“I’m just saying,” I continue, because apparently I can’t drop it, “if you’re like betrothed to a fucking princess or whatever, you should probably make it known.”

Baz actually looks amused for a split second (or, at least, as amused as Baz can look). “Betrothed to a princess, Snow? Isn’t that your hero’s destiny?”

“Fuck off,” I mutter at him and turn back to serve the salad. He’s such a dick. I was only trying to help.

We serve a few more people before it happens again. The asking Baz out. I don’t say anything but I think Baz can tell I’m a little agitated by it; I slop salad into Kayode’s bowl a little too hard and he scowls at me. I give him what I hope is an apologetic smile but I can hear Baz snickering to my right.

By the third time it happens (or the sixth, I guess), Baz has decided to flirt back. “Are you trying to ask me to the dance?” he asks her in a low voice, leaning over the food a little and quirking his lips at her. She giggles and nods back at him.

I don’t even know who this girl is, why is Baz choosing to flirt with _her?_ Is he just trying to get under my skin? Why is it even working? What plot is he trying to distract me from?

I look at the queue and decide I have a right to be annoyed on their behalf. “I’m sorry but could you move along?” I say to the girl. “There’s people waiting.” 

She looks at me in shock before turning back to Baz, but he’s already trying to catch eyes with the next person in line. She huffs and walks away.

I do feel bad; I didn’t mean to get so snappy at her, but she shouldn’t be flirting with _Baz._

I see him peek at me from the corner of his eye while he continues serving. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, Snow?”

“Flirt on your own time. We have a line to get through,” I snap at him.

“Carry on like that and people might think you’re jealous, Snow.”

“Jealous!” I whip my head to look at him, “O-of _what?”_

“That she prefers me over your Chosen One Charm? First Agatha, and now Lauren…”

Lauren. How does he even know her?

I feel like I’m on fire.

Also, what does he mean, ‘first Agatha’—did she ask him? She hasn’t even asked _me_ yet.

But Baz doesn’t let up. He sighs dramatically as he looks out at the people. “I wonder how many other people in this hall want me to take them to the dance?”

I turn my back on him and try to focus on serving the next few people. Maybe Baz is right; maybe I am jealous that they prefer him over me? Merlin, since when did I care about that?

I’m jolted out of my head when I hear a familiar voice say, “Hey Baz,” and I realise it’s Matt from the year above; he plays on the football team too.

Baz nods at him, before asking, “Chicken or pie?”

Matt laughs. “Cake or death?”

Baz just raises his eyebrow at him and I notice Matt visibly becoming a little uncomfortable, shifting a little before saying, “It’s, erm. It’s a skit from TV? Eddie Izzard?”

It’s quiet for a second or two before I chime in with, “Death Star Canteen?” Mainly because I feel a little sorry for him if I’m being honest. He might play on the same team as Baz, but not everyone has experience dealing with Baz’s sharp edges.

Matt smiles gratefully at me. “Yes! Exactly!”

I nod and try to ignore Baz's eyes boring into the side of my face. “Premal and Priya Bunce and I were obsessed with Death Star Canteen the year I went to stay with Penny.” I start chuckling at the memory and Matt smiles wider.

Baz looks between us before clearing his throat and giving Matt a pointed look. “Chicken or pie?” he asks again.

“Oh, um. Pie please,” he says. Baz scoops some onto his plate. “Thanks Baz.”

Baz nods and turns his attention to the rest of the line. I watch as Matt stands back to let the next kid through so I can serve them some salad, but he hovers and stares at Baz for a few seconds longer before starting, hesitantly, “Actually, Baz. Um. I was wondering if you already had a date to the dan–”

“I’m not going,” Baz interrupts.

“Oh.” Matt looks a little confused.

Baz watches him for a second longer and swallows before saying, “…but thank you, though. For the offer.”

“Oh,” Matt says again, but this time with a nervous smile. “Okay. See you then… see you, Simon!”

I nod goodbye at him while I serve someone else.

“That was surprisingly nice. For you, I mean,” I tell Baz.

“It takes a lot of courage to be openly queer,” Baz says quietly, frown lines appearing between his eyebrows.

I nod. He’s right, I guess; it was brave of Matt to ask in public when he had no idea how either of us would react, let alone the rest of the lunchline.

Plus Baz isn’t even gay. Is he? No, I’d know if he was. We’re roommates. I know him better than anyone else. Don’t I?

It hits me while I’m packing away the leftover food that Baz could have been doing all of this to throw me off. That would explain why I’ve been feeling fidgety inside all serving duty, having to listen to all these people effectively ask Baz out. Then again, I don’t think even Baz could get all these students to go along with his plot. 

I consider mentioning this to Penny but I reckon she’d start probing my interest in the subject and the idea of that makes the hair on my arms stand on end for some reason, like my guts telling me that’s a box I don’t want to open.

Best to ignore it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LEGO Death Star Canteen got banned from all the secondary schools in my area because people were taking the piss in the lunchlines 😅... here it is for anyone who’s interested: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sv5iEK-IEzw
> 
> You can find me on tumblr here: [OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/otherworldsivelivedin) 🥰


	5. 8th Year Truces

**  
BAZ **

I’ve been trying to avoid Snow and Bunce whenever we’re not researching. I’ve told them it’s because I don’t want Dev and Niall to see—which is true—but mostly I’m afraid that if I spend too much unfocused time around them, my guard will falter and they’ll somehow be able to tell that I spend a large percentage of my day fantasizing about Snow.

But it’s our first serving duty of the year since I was sequestered in a coffin for six weeks and I have no choice but to endure this hell.

This is usually a particularly testing time for the both of us. For me, because I have to suffer standing in close quarters while Snow’s shirt clings to him and students flirt with him relentlessly; and for Snow because, up until this point, well, I suppose I’ve always made it difficult in return out of spite. It seems Snow is thinking the same.

“We’re on a truce, right Baz? So no leaky ladles and being an arsehole this time, yeah?” He’s staring up at me, his blue eyes wide and looking all earnest. Crowley.

“Fine. As long as there’s no coating me in cottage pie and gravy then I will refrain, yes.”

Snow grins at my response, cheeks bunching and eyes crinkling and I consider letting the gas burners consume me.

“I’ve always loved serving duty,” he rambles on while I place bread rolls onto a platter, “although I’m glad we don’t have to deal with all the washing up after.”

Merlin, at what point did Snow think this truce extended to having actual conversations outside of finding my mother’s murderer? I can’t continue like this; I’m weak and my walls will start slipping.

“Penny says that when her mum was at school they made them scrub the platters to teach them important life lessons,” he carries on, “and they were left to unclog the drains without magic.”

I blanch at the thought of that. “Crowley, Snow,” I say, pressing against the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger, “the longer you talk, the worse this gets.”

He slams down the bag of fruit he’s unloading onto the table and looks at me seriously. “We have to work together and we’re truce-ing so you may as well try not to be all gloomy about it.”

I intend to brush him off but instead I find myself saying, “I was born to be a pessimist, Snow. My blood type is B Negative.”

He tilts his head in confusion and I think my joke may have gone over his head completely, but then he chuckles, eyes lighting up. I turn to fuss with the sandwiches in an attempt to hide how skittish this is making me. I’m already standing way too close to him and it hurts to look at him when he’s like this; he’s practically shining from joy at being so close to the food. (I’m certain he’s already stolen two of these sandwiches even though we have plates made up for us in the back.)

I’m not used to this. I’m making jokes and he’s laughing and actually talking to me like I’m his friend. I wish I didn’t like it as much as I do. Once again I’m indulging myself, even though I know there’s no good that can come from this.

** \---------------------- **

** SIMON **

“Isn’t your blood type just whatever you drank that day?” I whisper to him. That’s good for me, the whispering thing. Even if he still won’t admit it, before our truce I would have said it as loudly as I could to let everyone around us know he’s a vampire.

Baz doesn’t appreciate my discretion; he sneers at me and turns his back. Rude.

Anyway, I don’t know why I can’t stop talking but I love serving duty and Baz is being… well, tolerant of me at least, and it’s nice. He even made a joke, I think. Which is weird. Especially considering it wasn’t at my expense. I liked it.

Cook Pritchard unlocks the doors for service to start and I realise we haven’t agreed who’s going to serve what.

“Which do you want to take then, Baz?”

He responds with, “I don’t care enough to have a preference,” but I caught how his eyes darted quickly towards the burner they use to keep the soup hot.

“I’ll take the hot food then, yeah?” I say, brushing past him to settle in behind the hot food station before he can protest.

“Whatever, Snow,” he says coolly, stepping up behind the salads, sandwiches and fruit.

I don’t know why I just did that. I mean, Baz is obviously flammable and we’re not enemies right now, so it seems only right that I don’t want him to go up in flames I guess. I don’t have much time to think too deeply about it, though, as people line up and I have to start filling their plates.

Halfway through dinner, the line starts to empty and I realise that this is actually going pretty well. Even though it’s weird, surprisingly Baz and I work well together when we’re not at each other’s throats. I’ve helped him lay out the next platters of sandwiches and he even helped me refill the gravy when it ran out earlier in return. (Even if it was followed by a few snippy comments.) At one point Baz went to make himself a cup of tea and actually brought me one back too. (And because of the truce, I didn’t even have to wonder if it was poisoned!)

Being around Baz is actually sort of nice when I don’t have to worry about him killing me all the time. It makes me wonder what life could have been like if we weren’t destined to kill each other; if Baz wasn’t evil.

I stop that train of thought immediately and try to focus on the stir fry I’m serving to a kid from the year below. Baz _is_ evil. There’s no use thinking this truce can go on forever. And when it does end, we’ll still be enemies. Whether we want to be or not. 

This is all so fucking weird. Like I said, there’s no use thinking about it.

My mouth has gone dry and I wonder if the burners are making me too hot, so I decide to grab a glass of water from the kitchens quickly. I grab one for Baz too.

Penny comes over eventually with Agatha in tow. I’m surprised to see Agatha. She hasn’t been coming to dinner recently—I think she’s been eating in her room—and I try not to think about the fact that maybe she’s come down to the hall today because she knows I won’t be able to sit with her.

Anyway, I don’t miss how Agatha lingers in front of Baz, trying to engage him in conversation about our upcoming Magical Words essay. Baz’s replies are polite but short (I still think I should have added an Agatha clause to the truce). He relaxes when Penny gets involved and they bicker a little over the importance of pre-prepositional phrases. Agatha walks off after a few minutes looking a little put out. She didn’t even say bye to me. This is all such shit, ignoring each other.

Baz is distracted from bickering with Penny when Dev and Niall join the queue; he’s still insisting that we don’t “fraternise” outside of the room. He cuts himself off mid-sentence, giving Penny a quick nod. She rolls her eyes at him before waving goodbye to me. 

By the time Dev and Niall reach us I’m running low on cottage pie. I make the mistake of asking Baz to man the stir-fry while I go to grab another full platter when they’re in earshot.

“Last I checked, Chosen One, I didn’t take orders from chavvy strays.”

That takes me by surprise. I get that he doesn’t want to let the Old Families know we’re working together, and he has some kind of reputation to maintain for his minions or whatever, but he doesn’t have to be such a twat about it.

I hear Dev and Niall laughing at me as I turn towards the kitchen.

“You always go for the lowest fucking blow,” I spit at him when I get back, slamming the trays down. I’m getting worked up. How can he go from being almost friendly to being such an arse in two seconds flat?

“I’m–” Baz hesitates long enough to serve the next person before trying again.

He turns to look directly at me and doesn’t speak until I meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean it, Snow,” he says, seeming sincere. Actually he looks like saying that caused him a lot of physical pain and even though it’s not _I’m sorry_ , it’s the best we’ve ever given each other, so I accept it with a nod.

About ten minutes before dinner is over, the hall is basically empty and the food’s all but gone. With only minor spills from me, no complaints and no tearing Baz’s head off, I’d say that’s a win.

A girl wanders over to the cold food section where Baz is methodically sorting the leftovers away. I don’t recognise her but she looks a lot younger than us, so that’s not surprising. I leave to collect the wet cloth we’ll need to wipe the stations down but when I return I can hear the girl getting irritable with Baz.

“Well, can’t you just go and check? There must be some stir-fry in the kitchen. Haven’t you got some set aside for yourself for after?”

One glance at Baz’s face tells me I need to move this girl on right now or what’s left of the salad bar will go flying.

I lean into their space, put on my best smile and say, “Sorry, it’s like Baz said.” 

She blinks at me. “Hi Simon,” she squeaks in a high-pitched voice, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“The stir-fry’s all gone,” I continue, but she just looks at me with a tentative smile. Why is she still standing here?

“See you later, yeah?” I try again, smiling broadly, and hoping she takes the hint. I see colour start to rise in her cheeks as she turns and hurries back towards the tables.

I turn to find Baz already watching me with a blank look on his face. “What?” I ask defensively. “You’re welcome.”

“Is that how you plan to off The Humdrum, Snow? With flirting?”

“What? I-I wasn’t—and she…” I watch Baz’s eyebrow slowly crawl up his face and his lips quirk slightly as I stutter my way through an explanation. I stop and take a breath. It’s not the same as earlier, when he was mean for Dev and Niall’s benefit. I think maybe this is just another one of his jokes, his way of being friendly. Or, well, being ‘not enemies’ at least.

“I was just nice to her, Baz. A smile can go a long way and all that,” I say. “Maybe you should try it sometime,” I add, giving his shoulder a push.

If this is the way he jokes, maybe I can do it too.

He actually laughs and although he seems startled by it, I can’t help but feel a little delighted. I feel like I’m included in his joke, and I smile to myself as I inspect the leftover fruit. _This is nice,_ I think. Weird, but nice.

“It’s one of your rare positive traits, I’ll admit,” he responds, “a sunshine smile. Right up there next to being a reliable disappointment.”

I drop the apple I was holding. “Did… was that a half compliment Baz?” I bend to pick up the now bruised fruit. “I can’t tell if this is a dream,” I mumble as an afterthought.

“You dream of me, Snow?” he asks with a smirk as I stand back up.

I feel my ears heat up a little. “What? I—it’s—” I growl out of frustration “...people dream of other people all the time.” I settle on as a response. Merlin. Lame, so eternally lame.

My stomach makes a loud rumble and Baz rolls his eyes at me. “Go on,” he says, “you take the platters in and eat. I’ll wipe the counters so I don’t have to watch the catastrophe that is you stuffing yourself silly.”

He turns away from me but I find myself smiling at his back. His words are just as harsh as they’ve always been (they have been all serving duty), but I feel like maybe I’m starting to tell the difference between when he’s being mean and when he’s just taking the piss.

I know it’s a strange thought, joking and talking with Baz, but I think I might like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After his bad joke at the end of Carry On, you can’t convince me that Baz isn’t just full of awful dad jokes.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr here: [OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/otherworldsivelivedin) 🥰


	6. Post Leavers Ball Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here’s to Simon and Baz choosing to work together, in that sweet spot just after their moment at the Leavers Ball... but before Simon spiralled and everything went to shit pre-Wayward Son💔

** SIMON **

Baz is huffing up a storm as I force him to speed walk to the Weeping Tower, but he’s forgotten that I’m pretty good at ignoring his signs of protest after all these years. I grab his hand though. I like to do that.

Aside from the huffing and a bit of grumbling when I badgered him to get up earlier, he’s barely complained. I’m still getting used to Baz being so agreeable. To be honest, I think he was just more upset that we had to stop our lazy morning snogging so that we could get dressed. (Which is fair.)

There’s no one out on the grounds yet—probably all hungover from last night—but Baz still hid my wings earlier with **There's nothing to see here,** just in case.

We’ll definitely be the first down to the post Leavers Ball brunch, which I’m incredibly happy about because I’m starving. Watford usually serves breakfast from the crack of dawn, but apparently they skipped that today in favour of a brunch that starts at 11am and I, for one, am not bloody happy about it. Fuck brunch. (Well, unless I can have breakfast too. Then a nice little elevenses can stay, I suppose.)

When we make it to the tower, we find Cook Pritchard pacing in front of the open doors, looking a little disheveled. I crane my neck to peer past her into the dining hall and I’m immediately irritated.

“Baz, the food’s not out yet!” I whisper to him. How much longer do I have to wait?

My voice sounds whiny and he rolls his eyes but he strides over to Cook Pritchard and I hurry to follow after him.

“Is everything alright?” he asks her.

She turns to him and lets out a heavy sigh. “No Basil, my porters are too hungover to make it down from their rooms! Useless!” She stamps one foot down on the ground and flinches a little from the pain.

Baz and I make eye contact and both take a step back. Cook Pritchard is friendly and all but you don’t want to be nearby if she’s mad; she makes Fiona sound tame.

She pulls a phone out of her pocket and starts muttering to herself. “Siegfried and fucking Roy, _‘it’s just a buffet,’_ they said…”

“Baz and I can help?” I find myself saying.

Cook Pritchard jumps a bit. “Oh, I didn’t see you there Simon.”

I would cut a glare to Baz (I hate **There’s nothing to see here** ) but he’s already turning his head slowly to glare at _me._

I keep my focus on Cook Pritchard and smile.

She brightens at that. “Would you?” She doesn’t even wait for our answer, just turns and runs through the door, shouting, “You know where everything is! Close the doors for now!” over her shoulder at us.

Baz is still glaring at me. I take a breath, plaster on a smile that I hope is charming and turn towards him.

We stare at each other. His eyebrow assumes the position. I expect him to say something but he doesn’t. I shift a little on the spot.

How do I explain this to him when I don’t fully understand it myself?

“Uh. We’re good together. A-at this. Yeah? Well, in general, we—I… um. We work well together. It’s—I _like_ doing this. With—er—with you. And Cook Pritchard needs the help—”

I cut myself off and rub against the back on my neck while he blinks at me in what I think is surprise. Merlin. That was awful.

My face is all red, I can feel it, so I take a leaf out of Cook Pritchard’s book and enter the tower without waiting for his answer. Then I have a thought:

“...and I’ll potentially get extra scones out of it,” I say brightly to him over my shoulder, smiling for real this time.

I hear Baz laugh from behind me and follow me in.

** \---------------------- **

** BAZ **

I can’t believe I’ve agreed to do this. Well, no, I actually can. Because I’m weak and I’d do anything for this moron. Because I’m in love with him. (And he _likes_ doing this. With me.)

Cook Pritchard has her hands full with finishing the hot food and Snow called dibs on setting up the cutlery table, so I’m the unfortunate fool who’s stuck fighting against boxes in the pantry, trying to find where they store the bread and condiments.

I can see bread rolls balanced precariously in the corner, wrapped in pouches of six to keep them fresh. I throw a few pouches in a bag and set about searching for the condiments amongst the cluttered shelves.

I’m five minutes into my pursuit when I become aware that I’m no longer alone. 

I can hear Snow trying to be quiet. He might have managed to sneak up on me yesterday, but he’s insane if he thinks I didn’t commit his new scent to memory when I spent the whole evening enveloped in him. I actually considered not showering this morning just so I’d still smell of him. (Because I’m disturbed.)

Also, I don’t need special vampire senses when he’s as clumsy as a drunken mule. Especially now, with that meddlesome tail.

I don’t halt my search when I hear him knock over one of the bags of rice they keep by the door. I’m secretly hoping he’s trying to wrap his arms around me from behind as a surprise and kiss my neck like he did last night while I was brushing my teeth.

Instead he wacks me round the head with something hard. 

I turn on him, furious. “What in Morgana’s name was that for, Snow?”

“Getting you back,” he laughs, waving something wooden in my face. It takes me a few seconds to recognise that it’s a ladle. One that I’m sure scoops soup just fine.

I contemplate that for a second or two before nodding at him. “That seems fair,” I concede.

“You’re losing your edge.” He gives me a smug grin and I consider kissing it off. And then I remember that that’s allowed now. So I do.

When we pull apart he tries to raise his eyebrow and fails spectacularly. (I hate how cute it is.)

“If fourteen-year-old Baz could see you now, ay,” he teases.

“Actually,” I say, turning away, partly to dig out the jars of mustard I’ve spotted and partly because I don’t think I can say this to his face, “I think this is exactly what fourteen-year-old Baz had in mind, he just didn’t know it yet.”

Snow’s silent and I force myself to stand and look at him. He’s frowning at me, quizzically. Of course he doesn’t get it, how could he? I might have outgrown my own obliviousness years ago but I was still self-defensively venomous for a long, long time.

I consider not continuing but after his speech at the ball and his fumbled confession this morning, I want him to _know._ I can give us this, at least.

“Fourteen-year-old Baz wanted your attention. Any which way he could,” I tell him. It comes out a little hoarse and I’m thankful that I don’t have enough blood in me to blush.

It’s not everything I want to say—because I don’t want to scare him off—but it’s a start. And it’s in stark contrast to fifteen-year-old Baz, who would have given anything for Simon to just leave him alone. I decide Simon’s already well aware of _that_ fact.

Snow steps towards me and firmly wraps his arms around my waist. “My attention, hm?” He looks me dead in the eye and tells me matter of factly, “You’ve always had it.”

I lift my hand and run my thumb along his jaw. _“So much of it,”_ I agree. I know I’m smiling at him like a fool.

In this moment I’ve never been more thankful that fifteen-year-old Baz never got his wish.

** \---------------------- **

** SIMON **

I was a bit worried my wings would knock things off the counter but it’s been okay so far. Even the tail is behaving; it seems to like being wrapped around the apron ties.

I’m actually enjoying myself. It’s kind of nice, doing something hands-on. Keeps my mind busy. It’s not as easy not to think about things as it used to be. Professor Bunce suggested the idea of therapy to me a few days ago; she said that the grief alone could be cause for booking a few appointments, even without all the… well, the other stuff. I said I’ll think about it. I guess it could be good.

I thought about maybe mentioning it to Baz too but I haven’t said anything yet. I have a sneaking suspicion that he’s all kinds of messed up from being Turned and thinking that his mom would have killed him. Plus, he was kept in a _coffin_ for _six weeks._

Actually, if that’s the case then maybe Baz was onto something when he told me on Christmas that we’re both messes.

Baz might be messed up over being a vampire, but I’ve always known he was brilliant. Graceful. Smart. Fucking perfect. I’ve never hid _that_ from myself at least. I guess I’m just viewing it all with a different lens now.

Well, Baz actually said that he thinks we match but I don’t think that part is true; especially considering I’m a Normal now. (Even if Baz insists I’m not.) But Baz and I have always held our own against each other and I’m going to uni and I’m going to start fending for myself and stuff. Growing up and all that. So maybe I’ll get there now that there’s a chance for me. For both of us.

Anyway, I really need to focus on setting up, instead of drifting off a million miles away. I grab some trays from the kitchen hatch and hurry back to the hall. I don’t want to miss this opportunity to be with Baz.

I hear him chuckling to himself while he lays out the bread rolls. It’s still a little jarring to see Baz being more relaxed when it’s just the two of us. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it. I know for sure that I won't ever get tired of hearing him laugh.

I want in on the joke though, so I ask him.

“I was just thinking of that time when you asked me if I was betrothed to a princess.” His eyes sparkle with amusement.

I laugh too. I suppose it is funny now, given we’re boyfriends and Baz is completely gay. It hits me that Baz’s dad is likely the type to expect him to marry a princess anyway but I don’t comment on it.

“You were a right dick that day,” I tell him, pointing my finger at him for emphasis, because I think my irritation over it might be lost on account of how I’m still grinning.

“Hm? How so?” he asks innocently, but his mouth twists in a way that lets me know he’s trying hard not to laugh.

I take a minute to think that through. Baz was right at the time, I _was_ jealous. But not of him. I was jealous of them, weren’t I. My realisation, however, is stunted by the fact that I’m fuming with him because now it’s obvious that he was lording it up with Lauren deliberately.

“You were trying to make me jealous on purpose, weren’t you? I knew it!” I slam the bacon pan down and flinch as grease hits me in the face. I ignore it and turn to glare at him. “You’re such a tosser.”

“They all approached me of their own accord, Snow,” he starts, holding his hands up placatingly, “but I can’t deny that I took advantage of the Lauren situation just to piss you off.”

I’m about to say something harsh to wipe that infuriatingly appealing smirk off his face but he reaches over to wipe the grease off my cheek with his thumb and murmurs, “I never dreamed you’d actually be jealous of _her.”_

I hate how much that softens me.

In fact, I’m a little embarrassed by it, so I offer him a smile and then turn away to faff with the slices of smoked salmon even though they’re absolutely fine.

I think I’m mostly annoyed at myself for being so clueless more than anything else. I know Baz thinks I’m oblivious—and I guess I was for a time—but I realised something this morning when he came out of the bathroom after his shower. His usual cedar and bergamot smell seemed so familiar and inviting and his hair was still damp where he’d left it down for once, curling against his cheeks and it hit me. That nervy feeling in my stomach: it’s butterflies.

Merlin, how long has it been this way?

We bicker a little while we set up. That’s not changed since being boyfriends. He’s still snarky and he still teases me and I’m still meeting him head on, giving as good as I get. I’m not embarrassed anymore to admit to myself how much I like it. Plus Baz is funny, now that he’s not spitting poison at me.

Anyway, I’m trying not to let myself get distracted with thoughts of Baz (especially not all the snogging we did last night) but he’s so close to me and we keep brushing up against each other as we sort out the trays and it’s putting me a little on edge. 

Focus, Simon. The quicker we get this done, the quicker we can eat, and then maybe we can go back to our room for a bit and make the most of the afternoon before Baz has to leave and we’ll be separated again. I don’t want to think about that right now. Apparently Fiona said she’d come for Baz at teatime but he didn’t seem convinced she’d even be awake in time to make it.

I look over at him while he sorts the crumpets only to find that my face flushes involuntarily as soon as he catches my eye. (I most definitely _am_ thinking about last night, it seems.)

His expression is intense; he’s looking at me like he’d eat me whole if he could. It’s a familiar look from over the years, but I’m just now realising that it probably doesn’t mean what I always thought it did. My heart’s racing like it always used to but that probably doesn’t mean what I always thought it did either, given that this time it’s making me want to drag him back into that cupboard and snog his face off.

Merlin, I’m having a lot of epiphanies today. I need a nap.

** \---------------------- **

** BAZ **

Snow rushed off to grab the last of the ham and cheese rolls so I sneak back into the pantry to pick up the scones and butter I hid in there earlier. There’s no way on earth he would have been able to concentrate setting up the rest of brunch if these scones had been left out on the table.

I’m also a little mortified over the fact that my main reason for hiding them was because I wanted Snow to see _me_ bringing them out to him. Normals say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and I’m inclined to take advantage of any way into Snow’s heart that I’m given.

I guess Snow would call that plotting; but this is all still so fresh, being boyfriends. Quite frankly I still can’t believe that I’m allowed to have this. And if the other shoe is about to drop, well, then I’m going to do anything I can to keep it from falling.

Sure enough, as soon as I pass by the kitchen into the dining hall, Snow sniffs them out and his head whips around to me.

He looks like a kid in a candy shop, eyes bright with childlike wonder. It’s absurd. (It’s delightful.) His eyes are flitting from the scones to my face rapidly and a part of me hopes this will feature heavily in his dreams in the future. (Maybe even his fantasies.) (Even if that does mean these infernal scones also have to be present; and, Merlin forbid, _the_ _butter._ )

He grabs the tray from me and places them down on the serving table almost reverently, and it’s work not to roll my eyes.

I drop the tray of butter loudly in an attempt to stop him from making moony eyes at the baked goods and get him back on track with making moony eyes at me instead.

He smiles at me mischievously, spreading his arms wide over the food, before bowing and saying “Your brunch awaits, Mr Pitch,” in what I am assuming must be his awful attempt at a posh voice.

He’s a moron. (It doesn’t stop me laughing at him anyway. Just a little.)

Snow has been in good spirits since I delivered my “I Choose You” speech at the ball and I can hear him whistling to himself while I spell open the doors.

By the time I wander back over I find he has two plates in his hands, both overflowing with food. One has crumpets, scrambled egg, bacon, sausages, French toast and at least five hash browns. (I think I even see smoked salmon under there too.) And, of course, a separate plate full of scones with a butter dish balancing perilously on the side.

I’m staring at the food in abject horror, when he asks, “Aren’t you going to eat with me, Baz?”

I glance around the hall at the people filing in.

“Just tea for me. I’ll go grab us some.”

He looks a little sad, but it’s not worth the risk. Plus, Simon might have thought my fangs were ‘wicked’ back in my room (because he’s an idiot), but I’m scared he’ll feel differently in the cold light of day.

I’ll swipe a bacon roll or two like usual though, to eat later.

“Um. Baz?”

I wait. He takes a deep breath.

“If you’re not eating, can you grab me a plate of pancakes, please?” he says in a rush.

I blink at him and then look down at his plate pointedly.

“Your appetite continues to astound me.” I sneer, for good measure, because I’ve always found his food habits enchanting and I hate myself for it.

He shrugs and two scones almost tumble off his plate. I reach out my hand to steady them and he’s so grateful that he directs the biggest grin towards me. It feels a little like sunlight pouring into my veins. (He’s so _alive.)_

“Fine,” I tell him and turn away before my face betrays how lovesick I am.

I don’t add too many pancakes to the plate; he’ll complain, but the more he has to eat through, the longer we’ll be in here and I want to go back to our room. He was playing with my hair this morning, nosing at my neck and kissing underneath my jaw and I have a lot less patience now that I know what it’s like to be close to him, even if it never feels quite close enough.

I sit down in front of him with a pot of tea and his pancakes just as he’s shoveling French toast piled high with eggs and sausage into his mouth. Most of it tumbles back down onto his plate, some onto the table.

It doesn’t put me off.

“Eat up Simon, then we can go back to our room.”

He looks up at me with another enormous grin; mouth full, big blue eyes shining and butter smeared along the left side of his face. He rubs his foot against mine under the table.

Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> The next in the series is [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137645)!
> 
> I want to take this opportunity to thank [Xivz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xivz/pseuds/xivz) for dealing with my freak out yesterday over whether this ending was good enough, thank you friend ❤️
> 
> And as ever, thank you to [Sconelover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover) for being the most wonderful beta I could have ever asked for 🙏
> 
> You can find me on tumblr here: [OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/otherworldsivelivedin) 🥰


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